


Collision

by Willowanderer



Series: Gratuitous Reincarnation fics [11]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Friendship, M/M, Reincarnation, cats are jerks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-09 23:45:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willowanderer/pseuds/Willowanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can't shake the feeling that he knows him from somewhere, but that's not going to stop them from getting to know eachother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collision

He'd lost another job, and defaulted back to one that actually liked him- message boy. Well, the official title was 'secure courier' but essentially, it was just message boy.

The job liked him, he couldn't say he liked it very much. But as long as he stayed vetted, the work was mainly freelance, and fit in well when he needed to pick up a little money or when he'd drifted out of another job and kept him outdoors, and moving. That was nice, he always seemed to think more clearly when he was moving.

 

Sadly, it also put him going up elevators to different offices, some of which were very open in their designs. He had no control over that. He had to go where he was told to pick up and drop off the messages, and sometimes the trip was worse than the delivery. Today he had to go across a glass walkway, which some brilliant mind had installed seven stories up. Who did that? Right above the street was one thing, but seven stories what just ridiculous. And the thing was looking up- he could look up and even out sometimes without feeling that strange urge to jump- he could see there were three or four more walk ways above this one. He kept his eyes on the floor, and kept moving.

 

Which was how he collided with someone going the other direction. Though he flailed to try to catch his balance and grabbed at the other man they ended up in a pile. He spent an electrifying moment nose to nose with a dusky skinned man, before he was shoved off.

“What the hell are you doing, running like that? “ He seemed to take in his hooded windbreaker, and the armband that marked him as a courier- it worked as a security pass in a lot of situations. “Are you _new_ at this?”

“New at this?” He was insulted and got to his feet, hauling the other man up unconsciously by a grip on his right wrist. “Who do you think you're talking to? I am _great_ at this.”

“ _Obviously,_ which is why you collided with me in the middle of an empty hall.”

“Well excuse me.” he spotted a message tube on the floor rolling down hill in the slightly tilted walkway and lunged for it, colliding with the other man again.

“what are you trying to pull?”

“Look, I don't know how it got out of my bag, but I'm just trying to do my job, you could make it easier.”

“Yeah, no, not if it means stealing my work- I still need to get it to-” He suddenly laughed. “the courier. I'm sorry. Yeah. Can we just sign off on this?”

“This is for me?” he stared at it. “I was supposed to come get it.”

“Well you were running late.”

“The hell I was!” He drew himself up, and pulled out his pen, clicking it open and closed in a nervous habit. The other man took the clipboard, checked over the form efficiently, and signed it, then initialed the tube.

“You were.”

“If I was, which I wasn't it was the fault of this gerbil tube maze of an office park.” The courier checked his signature against his ID badge, and initialed the form himself, tearing off the copy and handing it over. “So Mr. Saef, I'll just get out of your way.” he spun on his heel.

“No apology?”

“Why would I apologize? It was as much your fault as mine. You didn't apologize to me.” He was moving backwards back up the walkway, focused on the other man, instead of the height. “And you're going to make me late.”

“You said you weren't running late.”

“I _wasn't.”_ he said pointedly.

“You know what- give me your number.”

“What?”

“Give me your number, and you call me when it's delivered. If it gets there by the time it's needed, then I'll apologize- and I'll buy you a drink.”

He trotted back down the walkway, fished a card out of his pocket and handed it over, trading it for one of Saef's.

“You're pretty sure, aren't you?”

“I'm _always_ sure of myself.” and he was off. He was totally running, but it wasn't a bad view. Frankly, he'd just made the offer because it was entertaining to hear someone else refer to the architectural travesty he had to work in as a 'gerbil maze'. He looked at the card. Altaïr Umar, huh? He turned it over to discover what seemed to be a micro-printed resume on the back, and he laughed. He doubted that he'd ever hear from the kid again, though. There was no way he'd get it there in time- they'd called because the meeting had been moved up a half an hour, which was why he'd been trying to catch the courier before he reached the office to save time. Besides, in retrospect, that was kind of a creepy offer. But still- it might get him to move faster ad get the plans to the meeting a little sooner.

Altaïr was never one to back down from a challenge, after all.

He blinked to himself and rubbed his eyes. Now why did he think that? What did he know about him, anyway?

 

When the phone rang, he picked it up, expecting to have a panicked man on the other end, blaming him for the plans not being there. He'd only been transferred to the city a month or so ago; in theory the change would give him better advancement chances, but mostly what it did was shift him lower on the totem pole, and top of the list to blame for everything.

“I don't know how you did it Saef, but thanks. I've got the plans in hand. Gotta go.”

Stunned at the praise, he just stared at the phone in his hand. It rang again, and it was Altaïr- who at least sounded out of breath.

“I did it.”

“How did you do it?” he demanded. “I mean HOW?”

“I told you. I'm good.” he sounded smug. “And don't think you're getting out of that drink.”

“Are you even old enough to drink?”

“Asshole.”

“Should be saying that to a customer?”

“Only if he is. Besides, you didn't hire me, Mr. Saef, your company did. _You're_ just buying me a drink when we're off the clock.”

“I said I would. Where?”

Altaïr rattled off the name of a bar, and at prompting, an address.

“And if you're good, I'll even tell you how I did it.”

Hanging up, the architect made up his mind not to ask, because he didn't want to give Altaïr the chance to gloat.

 

Altaïr was waiting outside the pub when he got there. It was drizzling, and he'd tucked himself under an awning with his hood pulled up. It was a light, reflective off white and covered him to mid thigh, but despite the damp it was half unzipped, and his bag and courier badge gone. His legs seemed very long

“I almost thought you wouldn't come.” He unfolded from against the wall. “I mean, it's Friday night; you might have something better to do.”

“If I had something better to do, I would have gotten out of the office before seven.” he made a rude noise. “What do you drink?”

“Beer's fine. There's a microbrew here you might like.”

 

The bar was fuller than Malik would have liked, but not overly loud, considering. They managed to secure a table, tucked against the wall, mostly because most of the people either wanted to be near the bar, or near the stage where a local band was still setting up. The waiter took their order for drinks, and returned fast enough that Malik had to pick an appetizer at random. He sipped the beer and resigned himself to wait for that, as another table- full of a half dozen college students- snagged the waiter to weigh him down with requests.

“So Altaïr huh? That's an interesting name.”

“You got it on the first try. Most people say Alt-tear, like in Forbidden Planet.” He gave a toast with his glass. “I had a teacher who refused to be corrected on it.”

“Yeah, well, given the star is properly pronounced Altaïr, the planet should probably be called that anyway. How'd you end up with that name?”

“My mother liked the sound of it. I looked it up once. It means 'flying one' or 'bird'.” He made a rude noise. “Of course, with a name like that, I hate heights.”

“Could be worse. My name means 'king' I can't even get my cat to stay off the table.”

“Hey, don't feel so bad, cats don't obey anyone.”

He laughed.

“What's the poor pussy's name?”

“Sable. And frankly, he's the most disagreeable bit of dogbait I've ever encountered. I mean, I like cats, but frankly, he'd be better off a pie.”

Altaïr tried desperately not to laugh, but failed. “Where'd you get him?”

“Would you believe he came with my apartment? I'm subletting, and they couldn't take him with them. Still it's nice to have someone waiting for me when I get in, even if he would trip me down stairs if there were any. What about you? Any pets?”

“Nah. I like them, but I keep having places that don't allow them. I wouldn't want to get to know one then move someplace I couldn't keep them.”

“Soft hearted.” Malik teased.

“Only for stupid animals, helpless causes.” he admitted after a moment. “And bacon sandwiches.”

“Bacon sandwiches.”

“Bacon is delicious.”

They traded information back and forth- Malik had taken judo as a child, but was more in love with kicking things than discipline and had never advanced far in ranks. Altaïr had been on the swim team and in track at school. They finally got to order food, and Malik learned that Altaïr was lactose intolerant, and found it easier just to avoid cheese and milk than take pills for it. Malik got migraines- but that was his only real medical problem, he was healthy as a horse. They had similar taste in movies; though they disagreed on if it was better to read the book first or see the movie first. Altaïr insisted it was better to see the movie first so as get more fill in on the story after wards, while Malik preferred to read the book first so he could complain about what the movie had gotten wrong. Altaïr also enjoyed novelizations, and had even managed to track down a comic that was based on the book that was based on a movie that was based on a book- which in turn had been based, so it said, on actual events. He pointed out that each level was different story, and could be good or bad on it's own merits.

 

“That's kind of weird.” Malik said.

“What is?” Altaïr was chewing on his straw.

“Well you write with your right hand, you use your fork with your right hand.”

“I'm right handed. It happens.”

“Yeah, but if you're fiddling with something, you use your left. Never your right.”

“... Do you have some kind of hand fetish that we need to talk about, buddy?”

Malik made a rude gesture, and they both laughed.

“I just notice things.”

“Well, I notice that our drinks are empty.” Altaïr grinned. “So how about I put that drink you offered to buy me on hold for tonight, and we'll trade rounds?”

“And you'll just hold that bet over my head, forever? Yeah. That sounds nice.” Malik got the impression Altaïr didn't have many friends either.

 

It didn't take many drinks before Altaïr was telling Malik about the girl of his dreams- literally. Since puberty, he had had reoccurring dreams about a beautiful woman that he needed to find. And no matter how hard he searched for her, he could never find her. Someone had taken her away, and she had disappeared.

“I know it's a dream, but it just makes it hard to get into a proper relationship. It's just there in the back of my head that I need to find her.”

“So you're a virgin.”

Altaïr blushed, Malik discovered, in a way that could only be described as adorable.

“Noooo.” he protested. “I've done stuff. With women.”

And, he concluded, he was a horrible liar.

“Seven minutes in heaven doesn't count. Even if she gets hansy.” Malik leaned back and rubbed his arm, which had fallen asleep again, while he listened to Altaïr's story.

“What about you?” Altaïr demanded. “What do you like in a woman?”

“A dick.”

“Oh that's classy...”

He could almost see the hamster running and the flag of understanding raise.

“You're gay?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Nah, you're just so... I dunno. I just wouldn't guess it.”

“It's the twenty first century now, Altaïr. I can say it, I can be it, and I don't have to meet anyone's expectations of what that means.”

“Because you know, and you know what you want.”

“Yes.” He met Altaïr's eyes. He'd been surprised, he realized, but not in any way bothered. Malik was surprised now, and hid it in his drink.

 

They crashed together against the wall, lips and teeth and tongue, hands clutching at each others backs, and belt loops, tasting booze as much as each other and not caring. It was nearly perfect, and Malik stumbled against the wall with Altaïr's legs wrapped around his hips, hands full of a beautifully muscular backside. It had been raining again when they'd left the bar, and they'd both run to the subway station. Malik had offered to split a cab, and Altaïr had mumbled he confession that he didn't have the money for even half a cab. So he'd gone with him, to keep talking because even buzzed as they were, he was interesting to talk to.

When the subway had lurched to an unexpected slow, they'd collided. Malik didn't know if he'd grabbed Altaïr's hood first or if Altaïr had ducked in, but they'd suddenly been kissing- sloppily at first but homing in to a near perfect blend of lips and teeth, heedless of the other passengers. Who luckily did not seem to give a fuck. They'd stop kissing for a moment, then start again. Altaïr missed his stop, and Malik brought him back to his apartment without even thinking about it.

“We probably shouldn't... do this.” Malik mumbled, muffled by the fact they hadn't really disengaged the kiss.

“Do what?” Mumbled Altaïr. His pupils were huge in the dim light of the room.

“While we're drunk.”

“Oh... yeah, probably not. Do we have to stop making out?” he demanded. “I just really like kissing you.”

“Idiot.” Malik said fondly and kissed him again.

 

Malik woke up slowly, not really hungover, but in need of a piss and a drink of water, hopefully in that order. An arm was flung across his waist, and he shifted trying to move it, only to hear a baeful meow. Turning without trying to slide free, he saw Altaïr sprawled on the other half of the bed, face down and asleep, with Sable having taken up residence in the small of his back. Malik had called the cat a worthless bit of dog bait, but he was a dense, muscular short-hair of nearly twenty pounds and Malik knew from experience that dislodging him took doing. He snorted and eased out of bed, putting on coffee. When he came back, Altaïr was flopped on his back, arm flung over his eyes, and Sable was.. in about the same place, only on his front. Malik paused in the doorway, and just looked, wondering a little how he'd gotten on his back when Sable didn't appear to have been shifted. He also admired the view. His window faced north, so got warm, defuse light in the mornings, and the play of light over muscles made a very pretty picture.

“I can feel you looking at me.” mumbled Altaïr, without moving. “Good morning, Malik.” he seemed to like saying his name.

“Good morning. Sleep well?”

“Mnn. Good dreams.”

“And how heterosexual are you this morning?” he asked, trying to sound casual. He'd had some bad experiences with drunken hookups in college.

“About as much as I was last night?” Altaïr grinned but didn't move his arm. “Maybe a little less, I don't know why but the combination of your voice and the smell of coffee...”

“I can see that.” which rather answered his question of what was underneath the sheet. So could someone else, and he didn't have time to warn before Sable pounced.

 

Anyone would scream at that and Altaïr was no exception, the cat and the sheet went flying across the room. Malik was vaguely disappointed to discover that Altaïr was still wearing his boxers. He was clutching himself rather pathetically.

“I am going to kill that cat. His life is mine.” he moaned. “Argh. I think I'm circumcised now.”

Malik couldn't help it and started laughing uncontrollably, especially as Sable extracted himself from the mess of bed sheet, kicked it away and started grooming his claws. Most cats looked as though they were saying 'I meant to do that' in that pose, but Sable always had the distinction of it being more 'I know what I did.' Altaïr pulled himself together fairly quickly, though his less than circumspect checking of the damage set Malik off into an other round of laughter. He managed to get a hold of himself and looked up at Altaïr, who met his eyes and grinned.

“Clearly, pussy is evil. No more of that for this dick.”

He tried not to laugh at that, but couldn't help it.

Finally he stopped laughing again.

“Thanks for letting me stay over.” Altaïr said quite seriously.

“You're welcome. Sorry my cat tried to turn you into a unic.”

“Well he didn't succeed. I don't mind if you want to check sometime.”

Malik smiled a bit and leaned his head back against the wall.

“So what about you?” Altaïr asked.

“What?” He opened his eyes and Altaïr was leaning close to him.

“Because I'd really like to kiss you some more.” There was a lot of intensity in those eyes, but he managed to get a hold of himself and put a hand between their faces.

“Sometime when you've brushed your teeth. Your morning breath is foul.”

He was lucky, and Altaïr laughed, leaning back on his heels, but clearly not insulted, instead he hauled Malik back to his feet.

“Great. You can pick the place for the second date.”

“Sure, I know this great skytop restaurant...”

“You're a dick.”

“Good job you like them then.”

“Do I get any of that coffee?”

Malik gestured over his shoulder and turned to lead Altaïr into the kitchen.

“what's this.” He traced his finger over the darker patch of skin along the back of Malik's neck. Skittishly, he put up his hand to cover it.

“It's just a birthmark.”

Altaïr moved his hand a kissed it. Malik shivered again.

“Argh that tickles.” Malik grumbled.

“You're ticklish?” Altaïr sounded delighted. The tenderness evaporated as he ruthlessly found where Malik was the most ticklish and exploited it, heedless of the damage he took from flailing elbows.

 

It was weird, but he felt like he'd know Altaïr his whole life; maybe not liked him the entire time, but known him. It was comfortable, and he liked it, and he was glad that they'd met.

**Author's Note:**

> In order to write a full story, I needed to give them names. It bothers me when people write reincarnation fic and the characters have the exact same names, and the exact same appearances. At the same time, I wanted a feeling of continuation, so I compromised by letting them have the first names, and mangling the the last names.


End file.
